Not another aspiring writer's blog!

Es war einmal, nich allzu lange her, da saß ein Mädchen, gut 15 Jahre alt, mit Stift unsd Papier an einem Brunnen und dachte nach. Sie dachte und dachte, und als sie da so saß, da sprudelten die Gedanken wie aus einem Brunnen aus den Tiefen ihres Bewusstseins heraus. Das Mädchen ließ ihre Gedanken um ferne Orte und fremde Melodien ziehen, und ließ sich dadurch unbemerkt von ihrer Arbeit ablenken. Bevor sie sich versah, verspürte sie einen tiefen Stich in ihrem Herzen, der höllisch schmerzte. Um die Wunde zu säubern beugte sie sich über den Brunnen. Das Wasser jedoch stand niedrig an diesem Tage, und so bückte sich das Mädchen noch tiefer in den Brunnen, so weit, dass ihr das Herz in in den Abgrund hineinfiel. Ohne groß zu überlegen sprang sie hinterher, fest entschlossen, ihr Herz unten wieder zu finden. Das Mädchen fiel und fiel, bis es dumpf auf einer Wiese ankam. Sie schaute sich um und alles war so anders. Die Berge waren fort und wohin man sah fand man Wiesen und Kornfelder. Sie

Oh, my happy place. Once upon a time, not too long ago, there was a young girl, merely 15 years old. She lived on the countryside of a long-forgotten land with her mother, her father and her sister. She had a life, which no one could complain about. She had friends, she had a family and she even did good in school. Yet she felt like that was not enough. There had to be more .   The days went on and on, never seeming to change their faces. One morning she woke up, sat up in her bed and a thought dropped into her head. There must be more. That day she sent out a letter to an address she’d never heard of, eager to know who lived there and who she would get an answer from. Some weeks later she finally held it in her hand, the answer to where the more she needed lay. She packed the few things she had into a bag and threw it over her shoulder, briefly kissed her mother and father goodbye and hugged her sister, wishing her well for the future. She left the house. It was that momen

First Things first, I'm probably more of a realist than I'd like to be. Another way to start this would be to say "Hi, my Name is Denise, I'm 17 years old (as of now), and, so sublty stated in the title of this blog, trying to become a writer, one day, eventually. I am one of those kids who actually spends her freetime reading and writing. For fun. Yes, people like me still exist. But that would be too easy. Anyway, to get a little closer to the point, I would like to introduce myself to you a little bit more. As you know, I'm 17, but I have found my love to language way back when I was six or seven and my father forced me to read my first book. Three hours into the book I was completely drawn into the world of reading and from then on I knew I wanted to become a writer. I even wrote little books for my elementary school teacher (She never gave them back to me. I wonder what happened to them.). Through all the years, my love for the German language had never